


heavy in your arms

by cinnamonboys



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Breakup, Canon Compliant, Getting Back Together, Heartbreak, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, but also a lot of love, eventually, lots of angst kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21092000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonboys/pseuds/cinnamonboys
Summary: Harry's spent the last three years building a metaphysical ivory tower for himself, trying to sort out a new life while navigating the biggest heartbreak of his life. What can he do when the person who used to build him up comes back around to knock it all down?ORThe one where Harry and Louis haven't talked in the three years since the band split and Louis finally decides to respond to Harry's debut album, except the entire population of Madrid (and most of the internet) find out before him.(gonna be adding tags as they become relevant - it's rated explicit for a reason luv)





	heavy in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> alright so this is just a taste of this fic and i'm basically trying to figure out if there's like a cumulative interest in this general plot or if i'm alone in all my soft baby feelings about all the stuff that's been going on lately. if there is, i'm just gonna go ahead and put it out there that moving forward, this fic won't be totally canon cos who can keep up with all that mess anyway?? creative liberties are where it's at. i will try to match up what i can, though!!
> 
> please leave comments/suggestions/etc cos ya girl loves feedback
> 
> fic name credit goes to florence + the machine x

It comes in waves.

When Harry thinks of the last three years, it’s the only honest approximation he can use as a qualifier for the things that led him here. He’s not complaining.

Following the start of the hiatus heard round the world, Harry had got himself busy. Buried himself in his work. A solo album wouldn’t write itself after all. The growing pains came and went as he stretched to accommodate the newly vacant space around him. He moved to LA, made new friends, entertained the life only Hollywood could offer a twenty one year old ex-boybander, cut an album that debuted at the top of the charts, and took it round the world. Twice. 

Toss in a few once in a lifetime opportunities, like singing alongside the likes of his idol (i.e. Stevie Nicks, who often requested his company over tea and a finely rolled joint) or landing a spot as co-chair of the Met Gala, and one could say he’d had a good hand. He’d just put the finishing touches on his sophomore album a couple weeks ago, shot a couple music videos, and was soaking up the downtime while he had it while the tides were still still calm and low.

It’s nearly 9 o’clock on a Saturday night when it starts again. 

He’s patting down his face after going through his typical nightly face care regimen and suddenly his phone’s going off. It’s texts and emails, based off the noises rattling off. He’d since decided to unplug from social media for a bit with next month hovering over his head.

When he snatches it up off from his duvet, there’s a flare of anxiety that’s accompanied by a heavy helping of confusion.

There’s at least three from Gemma, ranging from one he’d apparently missed a couple hours ago reminding him about lunch plans the following day to newer ones questioning his apparent wellbeing and insisting she’s a call away if she needs him. With furrowed brows, he fires off a quick reply reassuring that he’s just fine and he’s looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.

The next is from his assistant Emma, who is offering blind comfort that she’ll be handling everything and coming by in the morning with coffee for a chat.

The following several, partnered with a helping of emails, are from various members of his team, all offering one piece of advice in common.

_ Stay off the internet. _

On a different day, he may have challenged them, but he’s had a rather busy day entertaining guests and running after his goddaughter, Ruby - bless her - for the majority of the afternoon, and that all manages to keep the whim under lock and key. Tomorrow then.

It’s just before he turns off the device that he sees one last text appear at the top of the list.

_ I wish you were here. _

Holding down the power and volume button, he then slides his thumb across the screen and watches it go black before climbing into bed and willing the roaring in his ears to calm.

There was no reason to get dragged under tonight.

&&&&&

The next morning comes and goes and leaves him in a daze. He’d followed his instructions and kept off the web, awaiting for Emma to appear and inevitably key him into the fuss, but if he thought he’d been prepared for the maelstrom that would greet him, he was terribly mistaken.

A little over a thousand miles away, a storm had manifested just north of the Mediterranean and the aftermath left Harry drowning in his kitchen in London.

It took a bit of pestering for his assistant-turned-adoptive-mum to spill the beans, what with her insistence to cook him a nice homely breakfast in place of his usual morning run. It was a bit redundant, but there was no fighting Emma when her maternal instincts came into play. Once she deemed him well-fed and herself out of excuses, she conceded in a flurry of hand gestures and poorly articulated half sentences before calming herself into propriety again.

Busying her hands with wiping down the same counters she’d all but waxed moment prior, the woman squares her shoulders, as if to brace herself for impact. “Louis played a gig in Spain last night and debuted his new music,” she starts, and a singular eyebrow raises on Harry’s forehead as he silently goads her on to explain the relevance. Sighing, she tosses the rag in hand into the sink before placing both hands palm down on the granite and looking at him head on. “Looks like he’s gone off and written you a complimentary album and all but dedicated it to you by name, love.”

The man’s expression is schooled into dulled down interest as he manhandles the coffee she’d brought him. “What do you mean by ‘complimentary’, Ems?”

There’s a look of consideration, and then she’s snagging his phone from where it was docked on his iHome after putting on his cooking playlist earlier. “What I mean, is that he decided to finally respond to yours. Publicly. And without any subtleties, I might add.” Handing the device out to him, he mindlessly presses his thumb to the reader to unlock it for her as he processes, and then she’s the one cocking a brow at him. “Care for a listen?”

It takes him a moment to really understand what she’s asked, long enough for there to be music pooling out of his phone’s speakers and then he’s snatching it out of her grip, cutting off the video. Clearing his throat, he stands from his bar stool perch at the counter and pockets his phone, his eyes everywhere but hers for reasons he knows she’s not a stranger to. “That’s alright. I hope he got the reception he deserves. I’m sure he’ll manage quite well for himself.”

“Harry - “

“If that’s all you lot were worried about, I’ll keep off the socials for the next few days and try to stay under the radar. I’ve got to be in LA in a few days and we know how that goes, but otherwise, I don’t think there’s really much for us to worry about. No damage control needed on our end.” He forces a smile as he passes her to deposit his dishes in the sink.

She shoots him one of her infamous ‘Harry Edward Styles’ looks, and he swears she’s nicked it right off his mum’s face. “I’m not here ‘cos I’m worried about the media, you menace.” She sidles up beside him, cradles his elbow and cocks her head. Assessing him. “You alright, love?”

There’s a theatrical roll of eyes as he shifts to leans up against the counter to mimic her stance. “Peachy. Truly.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head as he moves past her, humour in his tone when he says, “Aside from the fact I’ve delayed my morning 5k for all this nonsense, at least.”

Another sigh, this time exasperated. “Harry, if you don’t knock it off with all this excessive exer -”

He’s grinning as he grabs his Hydroflask off the countertop. Already filled with ice and lemon and ready to go. “No time for lectures, Mumma Em - gotta run. Feel free to hang about as long as you like. Should be back before too long.”

She waves him off, like he knew she would, and by the time he’s got his shoes on, she’s walking out the door with him. “You’ll call me if you need me, yeah?” He nods in the affirmative, and she looks at him for a moment before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Her gaze is simultaneously severe and sympathetic as she tugs away. “Otherwise I’ll see you in two days. And Harry, if only so I can sleep better at night, take care of yourself, alright? Maybe book a massage for this afternoon, could do you some good to treat yourself with some kindness for once.”

The joke isn’t lost on him and he’s snorting as he locks up, waving her off as she ducks into her car. He waits until she’s pulled out to set off on his way, turning down the street of the secured residential community at a moderate pace.

He barely makes it to the end of the block before the floods catch up to him and knock him to his knees.


End file.
